


No Need to Say Goodbye

by ItsADrizzit



Series: All Loved Up [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Champions League, Established Relationship, M/M, Stand Alone, Tottenham Hotspur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsADrizzit/pseuds/ItsADrizzit
Summary: Set just before the 2019 UEFA Champions League Final.With the 2018/2019 season is coming to a close, everyone is focused on the Champions League Final. Vincent has one last question for Christian before he flies off to Madrid, and it’s one that carries the weight of an uncertain future on its shoulders.





	No Need to Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [Regina Spektor - The Call](https://youtu.be/txbe1u6joC0)
> 
> After struggling for close to a year with my still in-progress work that kicks off this series, this idea came to me in the form of snatches of conversation with no real form or resolution. I sat on it for a while, but yesterday decided to sit down and see where it led. This is the result.
> 
> Definitely the shortest work I’ve ever written, but I needed to get it done and out there, and it’s good for me to write short fic once in a while, so here it is.

Vincent had just finished washing up the morning’s plates, mugs, and cutlery and placing them neatly back into their slots in the kitchen cupboards when he heard the unmistakable clatter of luggage wheels touching down on wooden floorboards. He shook the stray water droplets from his hands then wiped them front and back on the side of his jeans before ducking around the corner into the front entryway.

Christian stood near the front door, small roll-aboard suitcase behind him, black backpack propped up against it. He was dressed as he always did for team travel: joggers, t-shirt, and warm-up jacket, all in Tottenham Hotspur colours and adorned with the unmistakable cockerel badge. His most comfortable trainers already on his feet. The only thing missing was the customary black bill cap tugged down low onto his head.

“You’re off then?”

Christian jerked his head upward from where he’d been staring over at the luggage. “Yes, in a few minutes. Just gathering together a few odds and ends. You know how it is.”

“Mmm.”

They’d both been through this routine more times than Vincent could count—Christian readying for yet another away match in yet another place while Vincent stayed behind in London awaiting his return.

This time, however, it all felt different. This time it meant more—the match and the routine of it all. This time might be the last—for a few months at least, and possibly forever, depending on how the future unfolded.

“Off to Madrid,” Vincent said, his voice coming out soft and quiet.

“Yes. Of course. For the match.”

“And then…?”

Christian tipped his head to the side and stared over at Vincent. “What do you mean ‘And then?’ Do you mean our holiday? As I said I am sorry it got delayed, but, well...” he trailed off with a vague shrug.

“No,” Vincent said. “It’s not that. I don’t mind that.”

He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out slowly, willing the jumble of thoughts in his mind to all calm to a slow spin in the hopes that the words might come out correctly.

“Vincent?” Christian’s voice now softer, almost gentle. “Whatever it is, just say it. You know it’s better if we--”

Vincent didn’t let him finish, the words exploding out of him like a rush of water from a burst pipe.

“Will you be returning? To London, I mean. When all of this is done.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed, expression going from curious to downright confused. “Of course. As I said, we have our holidays ahead of us, and--”

 _“Christiaan_ ”

The word came out sharper than Vincent wanted it to, the sound seeming to echo around the wide open spaces of Christian’s house.

“That’s not…”Vincent said, quieter this time. Another hitch of breath, his chest starting to tighten into a sharp ache. He’d always known this was a question they would both face sooner or later, but now that he was here, staring it all in the face, he wasn’t sure he was ready.

“I meant… Madrid. You’re off to Madrid and I don’t… We haven’t spoken about it. About what will happen. About what comes next.”

Vincent, I…” Christian started. “Really? You want to discuss this now?”

His face was fixed in its usual blank expression, but Vincent could see the flicker of emotion in the back of Christian’s eyes. Could see the way he’d drawn himself in, shoulders tense, body small and tight.

He was right, of course, five minutes before Christian was out the door and off to the Champion’s League final—arguably the most important match of his career—was the worst possible time to bring up his ever-growing list of worries about the future and what it held for both of them, but there it was. He’d thrown it out there, and he couldn’t very well pretend he’d said nothing at this point.

Still, there was a time and a place, and Christian didn’t need the distraction.

“No. But… I do want to discuss it. Everything. Madrid, Chris. It’s not quite what you dreamed when you were a child, but…”

Christian’s mouth quirked into the hint of a smile as he moved forward, closing the distance between them. When he reached Vincent, he grabbed hold of both his hands and held them fast.

“Right now,” he said, “all I am thinking about is this match. To me, nothing else matters. When the match is over I will return home and we will have a beautiful holiday and you can show me all around Istanbul and we can talk about the future as much as you want, but for now I can only be focused on this.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Vincent’s nose. “You know I love you, right? No matter what. This is our life, and whatever happens…”

“I know.”

Vincent leaned forward, finding Christian’s mouth with his own. Christian shifted slightly in his arms, turning towards Vincent to find just the right angle to deepen their kiss. Their bodies moved on instinct, each of them knowing exactly how to twist and turn until they fitted together perfectly. They’d done this so many times, every move so familiar and almost routine, and yet every gasp of breath or brush of skin against his own still sent a shock of electricity rolling through Vincent from head to toe.

Christian leaned into the kiss, hands now trailing feather-light strokes down Vincent’s arms. He pulled Christian closer, his own hands sliding along Christian’s back, his skin radiating heat beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

Vincent moved slowly, savouring every sensation—every hard line and curve of Christian’s body underneath his fingers, the smell of Christian surrounding him, the swipe of Christian’s tongue against his own, complete with the sharp taste of mint from his toothpaste, Christian’s hot breath ghosting in gasps and huffs against his skin.

Too soon, Christian broke the kiss, pulling back only far enough to lean his forehead against Vincent’s, the tips of their noses bumping together, both of them gasping and heaving, Christian’s whole body shaking with the movement.

He let out one last slow huff of breath then drew back a bit more, carving out a sliver of space between them, although he stayed close enough to let Vincent’s hands linger at his hips.

“I really do have to go now,” he said. “Are you certain you won’t go with? You can, you know. Pochettino wants to give everyone the chance at the experience.”

Vincent shook his head. He had made his decision. He might be a part of Tottenham Hotspur in name, but he’d played no part in getting the club to or through this competition. Sitting in the stands and watching his friends either lift a trophy in absolute elation or collapse to the field heartbroken and defeated would only serve to remind him that he was barely more than an outsider here, Tottenham another brief stop on his way to somewhere else.

He didn’t need to sour everyone’s memories of the day, and Christian didn’t need him there as a distraction.

“No. It is better this way. You can focus and I can enjoy the match in my own way. I will see you when you return.”

Christian gave him another smile, this one almost shy, before he darted in and crushed their mouths together in another deep, bruising kiss.

Vincent let Christian drag him into it, taking as much as Christian wanted to give, and giving as much as Christian demanded. Christian’s fingers digging bruises into Vincent’s spine, his kisses hungry and needy. Vincent’s hands trailing soft strokes across Christian’s back as he willed out every last bit of his love and his belief. Win or lose, Christian would come home to him, and Vincent would give him whatever it was he needed, just as he always did.

This time, it was Vincent who broke the kiss, shifting away and out of Christian’s desperate grasp. He flicked his eyes open and stared straight into Christian’s—sweep of dark gold eyelashes, pale blue with flecks of green and grey, pupils wide and dark.

“You should go now, _Lieveke_. You don’t want to be late. We can finish this when you get home with your winners’ medallion.”

Christian’s mouth gave a barely perceptible twitch at the corners. “You should be bringing home one of your own.”

“Yes, well. This is football, right. You will just have to win one for both of us.”

At this, Christian shook his head then stepped back across the room towards his waiting luggage. “As always, I have to do all the work around here.”

Vincent laughed. “Of course. While I sit at home and look beautiful. It is a difficult job, but for you, I will do it.”

“Such sacrifices.”

Christian fished around in his backpack until he produced his bill cap. He let it dangle from his fingers as he shifted forward and pressed a soft kiss to Vincent’s cheek, then stepped back and shoved it down onto his head before collecting his suitcase.

“This time,” he said, turning his head to look at Vincent over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. “If you want to throw me a surprise party, I promise I won’t protest.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] No Need to Say Goodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547089) by [analise010](https://archiveofourown.org/users/analise010/pseuds/analise010)




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